Be careful what you wish for
by JulieArchery107
Summary: Sherlock wasn't. As a result he wakes up in a world where he no longer lives in Baker Street, and Mycroft became an older brother to an entirely different type of Consultant.


Title: "Be careful what you wish for."

Author: JulieArchery107

Type of story: One-Shot

"I wish you weren't my brother, Mycroft!"

Sherlock could no longer recall why they were arguing, and was well beyond caring.

It didn't matter.

It _never_ mattered.

They argued like this for _decades_ now.

Mycroft would come and try to initiate a civil conversation, and Sherlock would respond with throwing petty insults back at the older man, until he gave up and left.

It was just the way it always was…

He ignored the voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously a lot like John, that said he may have gone a _wee_ bit _too far_ this time.

There _were_ times when he believed those harsh words, particularly when he's stuck during a case and forced to go grovel at Mycroft's feet for a hint, he won't lie.

But that didn't mean he actually wanted it to happen.

Licking his dry lips the Detective risked looking up from his armchair at his brother standing in the doorway.

Mycroft, for a split second, looked as if he was brutally slapped.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the look was gone.

Replaced by a cold mask even Sherlock couldn't look through.

With a small nod the elder turned around, not even acknowledging the doctor he passed by.

John, perplexed by the lack of politeness that Mycroft is known for, turned a questioning eye to his flat mate.

"What's that all about?"

Sherlock shrugged and began plunking away on his violin.

"Nothing important."

* * *

Sherlock woke up feeling colder than a person living in a flat with heaters should be.

He doesn't remember when he fell asleep…

Nor how he ended up outside.

Shooting up to a sitting position the detective's sharp blue eyes surveyed his surroundings.

He was under some bridge on the outskirts of London, it was raining quite heavily and John's no-longer-sleeping back was pressed against his own.

Swallowing his surprise Sherlock looked down at his body, fully expecting to see his iconic dark-blue coat and scarf covering his body like they always do.

What he saw instead was a thick, brown and dirty winter jacket that has been patched up in more than a few places; jeans that have seen better days and boots that were two sizes too big. Coat and scarf nowhere in sight.

Confused and more than a little terrified he ran a hand through his hair. As he did that he noticed it was greasy, due for a generous haircut and covered in all kinds of dirt. His hands had the typical homeless-style gloves that covered the palms but left the fingers unsheltered from the outside cold.

He doesn't even _want_ to know what his face looks like.

"How did it come to this?" It came out little more than a whisper, but John still heard it.

"A certain self-proclaimed _Consulting Detective_ was his usual annoying and picky self when it came to the cases he took, and soon my surgeon salary was _not_ enough to pay for all the damages _his_ experiments caused _and_ the rent." John's voice was calm but Sherlock could tell he was positively seething under all that composure. "And so, despite her fondness of us, Ms. Hudson was forced to kick us out."

Sherlock blinked, then blinked again.

"That doesn't make any sense…" The curly-haired man muttered shaking his head in plain denial. "I was _always_ doing experiments and being picky about my cases."

He heard Watson take a deep breath to calm himself.

"Yes." John agreed, sounding like a parent trying to explain something to an overly curious child _without_ throttling the poor thing. "But, up to a couple of weeks ago, most of your experiments _didn't_ end up blowing up _half_ of the _apartment!_ Up to a couple of weeks ago, _I_ was _sure_ you _weren't_ about to conduct experiments on _explosives_ , when you knew, _knew_ , we _couldn't_ afford to repair the damages _every time_ something goes 'KABOOM!'"

Sherlock was quiet for a second, not really seeing himself do all of the aforementioned things, when he, supposedly, knew they weren't in the best financial situation.

Perhaps he was waiting for a certain _someone_ to step in at some point.

It's rather alarming that he hadn't.

"…why didn't Mycroft help?" The detective whispered cautiously.

John slowly rose from his lying position, and Sherlock could almost see his raised eyebrow.

"Mycroft?" The doctor asked, confusion evident in his voice. "Why would _he_ , of all people, want to lift so much a _finger_ to help _us_ out?"

The detective had the decency to blister.

"Does he really hate me so much?" He asked softly. Had he finally gone too far?

"Um… _Duh_." John was giving him a worried look. "Based on your history with the guy, why would he feel anything _but_ hate for you?"

"Because that's not like him!" Sherlock finally turned towards his friend, anger flashing in his eyes. The doctor's wardrobe was not much different from the detective's. The only difference in their appearances were their beards: Sherlock's was dark brown and not very thick, while John's was sandy in color and resembled that of a sailor. "He would _never_ turn his back on a sibling, _especially_ one in need, like that!"

 _Now_ John looked concerned.

"Sherlock have you hit your head on your way here and didn't tell me?" He asked moving closer to inspect him for any head wounds.

Sherlock moved away as if burned, a frown on his face.

"I did _not_ bump my head, John!" He yelled, giving his friend a strange look. "Where did you get _that_ idea from?"

John gave him a flat look.

"You just implied that _Mycroft_ is your _brother_."

Sherlock cocked his head.

"And?"

The doctor looked at him as if he _completely_ lost his mind. To be fair, with everything that he was learning right now, he might be closer to that state than he'd care to admit.

"Sherlock. Mycroft Moriarty is, most _definitely_ , _not_ your _brother_."

The detective just stared at his friend in utter shock, brain freezing, unable to put _that_ name alongside _that_ surname and _not_ think of all the _chaos_ that would erupt, were this _abomination_ let _loose_ on the world.

"M-Mycroft _what_?" He asked again, hoping he _didn't_ hear the two 'M' words forming one of the _deadliest_ combinations one could imagine.

Hoping that his occasional nightmare of a 'perfect criminal mind' did _not_ just become a reality.

"Mycroft _Moriarty_." John said, as if there was absolutely _nothing_ wrong with what he was saying. As if things were _always_ that way. "You know, older brother of your greatest nemesis, Jim Moriarty? Current British Government _and_ unchallenged Alpha Dog in the Criminal Underworld? AKA the _only_ reason you haven't been able to keep James in _jail_ for all these years?" The doctor shook his head at Sherlock's baffled expression. "Are you _sure,_ you didn't hit your head? You're acting like this is the first time you're hearing all this, when _you're_ the one who figured it all out!"

Sherlock stared blankly at his friend, as he let himself fall into his Mind Palace.

* * *

He needs calmness, he needs tranquility…

He needs…

' _My, my, dear brother. This is quite the situation you've found yourself in, I must say. '_ The detective spun around, eyes large and relieved.

Mycroft was there as he always is. Leaning on his favorite brolly, a dark three-piece suit adoring his body and small smile on his face.

The detective closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in that knowledge.

Big brother was here…

He'll help him understand everything…

All will be well soon.

 _'How did all this happen?'_ Sherlock asked, looking to his older brother for guidance.

Mycroft smiled his superior smile and twirled his umbrella.

 _'Why, it happened because you **wanted it to** , little brother.' _

Sherlock blinked and frowned.

' _I don't understand…_ '

Mycroft's eyebrow rose.

' _Why? Isn't this **exactly** what you wished for?_'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in confusion before realization hit him full-force.

' _No!_ ' He rushed forwards and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, desperate to make him believe. ' _I-I didn't mean it!_ '

But Mycroft just smiled down at him sadly.

' _You may not mean it now...'_ He whispered softly. ' _But you definitely did back then_.'

Immediately the whole palace was filled with Sherlock's angry voice.

' ** _I wish you weren't my brother, Mycroft!_** '

The Detective was shaking his head violently.

' _No… no! I-I was just angry! I swear!_ ' He looked up at the elder Holmes, tears in his eyes. ' _Please! You have to believe me!'_

Mycroft smiled and winked.

' _Then why don't you tell me this in person?_ '

* * *

Sherlock's eyes shoot open and he jumped to his feet, startling John.

"And where are _you_ going?"

"To see Moriarty." The detective answered, stepping out from under the bridge to the wet grass.

"W-What?" The doctor scrambled to his feet. "Why?!"

"I need him to take me to his brother."

"Are you _insane_?!" John proclaimed, eyes wide in fear. "Tell me you aren't _serious_ , Sherlock! That's _suicide_!"

"I don't think he'll go that far, John." The detective answered curtly. "He's not one to get rid of a potential asset."

"Oh _really_?! You and Jim have been at each other's throats for _years_ now! What do you _think_ Mycroft's going to do when served the man that nearly _killed his little brother,_ on a silver platter?!"

"You don't have to go with me, you know." Sherlock answered, sounding irritated.

"Oh no. I ain't going to let you face him alone." The doctor shook his head harshly and fell in to step with his best friend.

Sherlock smiled.

Despite everything else being different, James Moriarty's scheduled daily visits to the local café after work in Barts, have thankfully remained the same.

Sherlock wouldn't be able to contact him otherwise, since he had no phone.

The Consulting Criminal grinned when he saw them approach.

"Sherly! And dear dr. Watson! What a pleasant surprise!" He then pointed at the empty chairs around him. "Come, have a seat! I'll order you two some coffee." Jim then started to stand up to do just that, but was stopped by Sherlock.

"No need, Jim." The detective said sitting down. "We won't be staying long enough to enjoy it anyway."

Moriarty blinked a bit, smile still in place.

"Oh, alright then." He leaned over the table, chin resting on his hands. "What can I do for the two of you?"

Sherlock took a deep breath then looked straight into Jim's amused eyes.

"Your brother."

Immediately Moriarty's face changed, his eyes lost all the warmth and he became serious.

The ex-detective duo were seeing the side of James Moriarty that made every subordinate fear and respect him.

The Crime Lord.

"What _about_ him?" He asked, voice low and dangerous, a note of protectiveness evident in his tone.

Sherlock wondered if he'd have a similar reaction if an enemy started a conversation the way he just did.

He came to the sad conclusion that… no.

He wouldn't.

"I'd like to meet him." The detective answered calmly, leaning back on his chair casually.

"Oh?" Jim's eyes were suspicious and protective. He didn't hide the fact that he cares deeply about his brother, and would rain hell on anyone who'd dare hurt him. " _Why_?"

"I might be interested in… joining your gang." Sherlock said sounding completely serious, looking the Consulting Criminal deep in the eyes to show he means it, completely ignoring John's bewildered gasp.

Moriarty looked taken off guard by this unexpected turn of events, but not a second later the look of surprise was replaced by a knowing smile.

"Ah…" Jim noded in understanding, and send them both a smile. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?"

"Yes." Came the curt response.

Moriarty then leaned back on his chair, giving the detective duo an 'I-don't-quite-believe-you' look.

"Why should I believe you, Sherly?" He asked tilting his head like a curious puppy. "Not a month ago you were ready to take the both us down regardless of the method, and _now_ you want to join the winning team?" He snorted in barely contained disbelief. "Forgive me for not buying this for a second."

"Like you said yourself, I can't beat you." It may sting his massive ego to no end but it was the truth. Jim was hard enough when he worked solo, Sherlock didn't even want to _think_ about the mayhem he'd be able to cause working with the British Government himself. "I am no threat to the two of you, not anymore." He gestured to his new clothes. "The Yard always saw me as a demented freak, I no longer want to work with people that level me with the scum I helped to catch. And , with them out of the picture, do you think anyone would believe a _word_ I say looking like this?"

Moriarty still didn't look all that convinced.

"Come on, Jim." Sherlock pleaded quietly. "For old rivalry's sake."

James saw the desperate look in the detective's eyes and sighed.

"Look… Sherly, as much as _I_ like you and would _love_ to have you in our little club, I don't think Mycroft would-" He got interrupted by a beep coming from his coat.

Blinking he reached to his pocket and pulled out a smartphone.

After reading the message, he smiled.

"You're in luck, Holmes." Jim stated after a few seconds. "It's recruiting hour."

Sherlock smiled back at his biggest nemesis, then turned around to give a thank you nod to the camera that's been observing them since they came.

* * *

The detective duo have been manhandled into a familiar looking black car by two large brutes, the moment they left the café. John had a blind placed over his eyes while Sherlock was simply tied up, as Jim understood it would be pointless against his powers of deduction.

The ride didn't take very long, though it did include a ride underground with a car-lift.

It seemed their main lair is placed beneath the city.

How fitting that the 'Shadow behind the British Government' would literary have a base in the 'Shadows of London'.

Mycroft has always been dramatic.

They're led down a long dark corridor, armed guards on every corner looking professional and deadly. Sherlock wouldn't be surprised if they were trained by MI6, or even agents of that organization.

Mycroft _was_ their leader after all.

And they follow him like _sheep_.

Eventually they reached a large metal door that Moriarty opened with almost too much ease, revealing an enormous room filled with hackers in front of computers, scientists and inventors working on what looked like weapons and minions sparring in the right corner.

In front of them was an enormous black throne with Mycroft sitting on it as if it was a sofa, legs crossed and hanging loosely over the right armrest, while the left one served as a pillow for his head. He seemed to be busy with something on his phone.

He looked almost exactly like he did in Sherlock's Mind Palace.

Still wearing three-piece suit (today's was black), still carrying around a black brolly (it was leaning on the throne slightly) and having an irreplaceable female PA at his side (Anthea was sitting on a smaller chair to his left, glaring at the newcomers).

The only visible differences being his hair, which lacked its ginger hues and was instead as dark brown as his little brother's, and the appearance of a small beard adoring his jaw.

"Myc'ie!" Jim chirped as they got closer. "I'm hoooome."

The older Moriarty smirked under his nose but otherwise didn't look up from the screen.

"So I see."

"And I brought frieeeeeends!" James pushed the Duo before him. "They want to be part of our exclusive club-house, Myc."

At that moment Mycroft finally looked up from his phone and gazed in their direction.

"Ah, yes." He hummed, standing up and taking slow steps towards his 'guests'. "But, before we turn our attention to possible recruits…" The elder Moriarty turned to his younger brother. "Did you manage to retrieve what was stolen, Jimmy?"

Hearing _that_ voice calling _that_ man with a term of _endearment_ , nearly made the poor detective puke.

It was all wrong… so very wrong.

"Indeed I have, big bro." Jim pulled a pen drive out of his coat and threw it towards his brother, who caught it effortlessly. "And you don't have to worry about the thieves. I… took care of them."

"Excellent." A genuine smile appeared on the elder's face. "You did well, little brother." He then locked Jim in a headlock and ruffed the younger Moriarty's hair, earning himself a giggle from the younger man.

Sherlock's heart sored at the show of affection.

When was the last time he and Mycroft acted like brothers?

He honestly couldn't remember.

After a minute of the Moriarty siblings goofing off, the elder finally turned to the bound men.

"I must say, I did not expect to see the day the _Great_ Sherlock Holmes would be driven to switching sides." He spoke, eyebrow raised and suspicious. "Even less likely is the thought of you coming to _me_ of all people to seek a place in the criminal community."

Mycroft then stood face-to-face with Sherlock, eyes cold and circulating.

"So explain this to me, oh great nemesis of my brother." He hissed. "Why come to me?"

Sherlock swallowed.

"I came to you because…" He began, feeling all the emotions slowly overpowering him. "Because…"

"Yes?" The elder Moriarty pressed.

"Because I wanted to say 'I'm sorry'!" Sherlock screamed suddenly, losing what little control he had.

Mycroft suddenly stepped back, surprised.

"What?"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Mycroft! I swear I didn't mean what I said the other day, I was just angry!" He cried, sounding like a regretful little boy. Before he knew what was going on, Sherlock was burying his face in the elder Moriarty's shoulder.

"I'm sorry!"

His vision blurred and he felt something shaking him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

" _Sherlock…_ " A faint voice from somewhere far whispered, but the younger Holmes wasn't paying any attention.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry…"

" _Sherlock!_ " They voice grew louder but the detective was determinate to ignore it.

"I'msosorryI'msosorryI'msosorry!"

" _SHERLOCK WAKE UP!_ "

* * *

He opened his eyes to a concerned looking group of people consisting of his best friend/blogger, Ms. Hudson and…

"Mycroft!" Sherlock rasped, voice thick with relief. "You're here…"

The elder Holmes's watched him, face soft.

"Of course I'm here, you brat." He said, though without his usual bite. "I'll always be there when you need me, little brother."

Sherlock closed his eyes and basked in the knowledge that Mycroft was, once again, his older brother.

Everything was normal again.

But then a beep broke the comfortable silence between them.

"Ah, _that_ would be the Russian ambassador wondering where I ran off to, in the middle of our meeting." Mycroft said, getting up from his crouching position over Sherlock's head. "Now if you'll excuse me-"

"No!" The younger Holmes suddenly exclaimed in a panic, looking more like a frightened child than the world's greatest detective. "Don't go! P-Please… I… I need you here, I…"

 _I need to be sure you're still **my** brother. _

Mycroft looked startled for a brief second before his eyes soften once more.

"Of course I'll stay…"

* * *

A/N: Welp, that's one long one-shot… Hope you like!


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